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Earlier this year, my 5-year-old son was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder.  The diagnosis did not come as a complete surprise.


Over the previous year, my husband and I had grown increasingly aware of our son’s socially averse behavior and rigid thinking. He avoided eye contact with most people and melted down if routines or food weren’t precisely as expected. And he seemed not to understand – or even be concerned with – social cues.

Still, despite his social and behavioral challenges, my son had unusual abilities.

He had taught himself to read when he was four and was a book lover with an incredible memory. His singular focus over the previous year had been learning everything – EVERYTHING – about outer space, writing “books” about the solar system and drawing thousands of pages of the planets in fine detail, including the hundreds of moons which he knew by name.

He often spoke like an adult and could sit and focus on tasks for long stretches of time. Although his introverted nature was not unlike many of our nerdy, socially awkward family members, we knew he probably had Asperger’s syndrome, that particular part of the autism spectrum that applies to kids like him: verbal, focused acquirers of information who can’t seem to make sense of the social world around them.

The moment the developmental pediatrician confirmed that our son had Autism Spectrum Disorder (Asperger’s syndrome having been folded into a broader umbrella diagnosis in 2013), we found ourselves part of the strange fellowship of parents with children on the autism spectrum who are told to look at their child’s challenges and strengths with new eyes.

While it was a relief to have an explanation for the behavioral challenges we were confronting on a daily basis, in the context of an autism diagnosis, our son’s precocious ability to read was reframed as a “splinter skill.”

His unusual ability to focus was “perseverating.” And his passion for data and facts was determined to be a “classic sign of autism.”  “I wish I had better news for you,” the doctor said apologetically as we left his office, “but at least some of these kids are really smart!”

We were frustrated. How was it possible that his strengths and abilities were pathological?  In the months that followed, we waded through the morass of behavioral, dietary, psychiatric and educational advice, becoming more confounded. The dominant focus on autism seemed to be on research into causes, preventions, and cures. Why? Where was the chorus of experts providing us with advice on how we, as parents, could champion and channel our son’s abilities while helping him cope in a world that would always seem alien and confusing?

For a parent of a child on the autism spectrum, Steve Silberman’s NeuroTribes: The Legacy of Autism and the Future of Neurodiversity is nothing short of a revelation.

Silberman’s premise, which he makes clear from the beginning, is not only that is there a place in the world for autistic intelligence, but that one of our greatest challenges as a society (especially given the rising number of autism diagnoses, which currently stands at one in 68)  is creating a world in which that intelligence is fully utilized, where neurodiversity is not just “accommodated,” but celebrated.

The book grew out of reporting Silberman did for Wired magazine, largely in San Francisco and Silicon Valley, one of the regions where the “epidemic” of autism has been most closely watched (and where two crucial countercultures – that of the nerdy tech sector and the vaccine-fearing counterculture – find strange intersections).

The book begins with a lengthy history lesson, and indeed, it is through Silberman’s sweeping and lovingly detailed history of the evolution of autism that the reader unlocks the understanding of how our society came to our current understanding and response to autistic people today.

Although autism has always been present in humans, its characteristics were not fully articulated, nor was it identified as a unique disorder, until the 1930s, when it was “discovered” simultaneously by Hans Asperger in Austria and Leo Kanner in Baltimore.  Both Asperger and Kanner noticed behavioral similarities amongst some children brought to their respective clinics. These were children who had difficulty making eye contact and with social interaction were preoccupied with rules and systems, and had extraordinary abilities in areas like math, art, music, and science.

Asperger was convinced that it was possible for children with this disorder (which he called “autistic psychopathy”) to thrive with the help of tailored teaching methods that would draw on their fascinations, and he foresaw important roles for them in contributing to the betterment of society.

Asperger was also the first person to recognize that autism was clearly a continuum, with nonverbal and verbal children sharing core characteristics. He called these children, affectionately, his “little professors,” since many of them were prone to talk about their pet interests at length. As the Nazis accelerated their plans to rid society of “mental defectives” with a large-scale campaign to euthanize disabled children and adults, Asperger gave the world’s first public talk on autism, in which he defended his patients’ right to exist.

Cognizant of the Nazis’ intolerance of visibly disabled children, Asperger focused on what he called the “most promising cases” of children in his care, arguing that these children were not only capable of accomplishing great things in the world, but that their social difficulties were inextricably linked to their gifts. His framing of autism likely saved the lives of many children, but before he was able to disseminate his work widely, his clinic was destroyed in an air raid–and with it, the case studies of all of his patients.

Silberman’s examination of Asperger’s life and contributions is made all the more poignant when one considers Leo Kanner’s radically different understanding of autism, which was to shape the diagnoses and approaches to treatment for decades to come.

Kanner, who saw only the most challenging cases of autism, determined it to be a very rare disorder consisting of a narrow range of behaviors. More significantly, he promoted the idea that autism had somehow been triggered by cold and distant parenting styles. “Refrigerator Mothers” were likely to blame, and only psychiatry could ameliorate the damage that had been done.

By emphasizing the most debilitating aspects of autism, and by implicating parents, Kanner paved the way for decades of mistreatment of autistic children.

The chapters detailing the lifelong institutionalization of children in horrific conditions where shackling, neglect and corporal punishment were the norm, as well as a chapter on the darker side of treatments such as Applied Behavior Analysis that are still widely used today, will be particularly difficult for parents to read.

Perhaps most significantly, Kanner’s work shaped the current emphasis on finding causes, prevention and “cures” for autism, rather than focusing on expanding services and designing adaptive technologies and spaces for autistic people. It also ensured that autism remained stigmatizing for families–a legacy that sadly persists today. From the moment of diagnosis onwards, parents are told to view their child’s strengths as deficits, to question the causes, and to hope for a cure.

It wasn’t until the 1970s that Asperger’s work was rediscovered by the British cognitive psychologist Lorna Wing, who was seeking answers to the variety of autistic traits she was discovering in the general population.

Largely due to her efforts, the clinical definition of autism was expanded to include the true spectrum it is today, and Silberman makes clear that it is the broadened diagnostic criteria that have been responsible for the rise in autism cases.

In addition to Asperger and a handful of researchers willing to question the status quo, the true heroes of Silberman’s book are parents and autistic people themselves who have fought for the full inclusion and acceptance of autistic people in schools, workplaces and the public sphere.  Without the parental advocacy groups of the 1970s, disabled children would still be denied the right to a public school education; and parents are still on the front lines of fighting for services for their children in their schools and communities every single day.

Autistic people themselves have also stepped out of the shadows with the rallying cry “Nothing About Us Without Us,” proudly carrying the autistic label and insisting on full inclusion in policy discussions having an impact on their lives.

The neurodiversity movement is leading efforts to promote social support systems and highlight the necessity and value of neurological differences. And while Silberman’s focus is on autism, the concept of neurodiversity extends to anyone whose brains are wired differently, including those with dyslexia, ADD/ADHD, and mood disorders.

Silberman, who spent years with autistic individuals and their families to write this book, is  remarkably restrained when detailing the medical interventions approaching quackery that certain members of the medical community have pushed on parents desperate to help their children. However, he clearly believes that we need to redirect at least some of the money that is being poured into the research identifying causes into expanding services and destigmatizing autism, and he makes a persuasive argument based on history alone.

A portion of Silberman’s work chronicles autistic innovators: from Henry Cavendish to Nikolas Tesla to Temple Grandin to Silicon Valley’s geeky workforce, many innovations in the modern world have come from autistic minds.

I recently got together with a group of parents who have young autistic children. As we shared stories of parenting our kids, two common themes emerged: the extraordinary abilities our kids have, and the immense challenges we all face in getting access to the services and support that our kids need. One of the strangest things about receiving an autism diagnosis for your child, in fact, is simultaneously receiving the message that your family is now part of a ballooning “epidemic,” even as the experience of advocating for your child often feels like a solitary exercise in having to proffer the same explanations and reinvent the same wheel, over and over.

Parents like myself are mired in the daily worries, exhaustion, and yes, joys of raising a child on the spectrum.

For me, the greatest contribution of NeuroTribes is that it reinforces and gives historical vindication to our instincts to create learning and living environments that respond to our children’s challenges while supporting their abilities.

That Silberman combines this analysis with so much warmth and respect for his subjects–autistic children, their families, and their champions–makes the book not just part of a parent’s toolkit, but also a source of wisdom and companionship, as if the caring hero of Silberman’s narrative, Hans Asperger, were still among us.

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We've seen the tired old trope in articles, commercials and television shows so many times: working moms just have too much to do. They're chauffeuring kids around to evening practices, making lunches after said kids go to bed and staying up till the wee hours of the morning catching up on their relentless and stressful jobs. The message is clear: working moms are tired and burnt out. They don't get enough time for themselves because they're so busy giving it all to their families and their jobs. But does this really line up with the working mothers you know?

Here's a secret many working mothers have figured out: less really is more. The minimalist movement—simplifying your life and stuff to gain more time—has revolutionized life as a working mother. The minimalist mom gets a full night of sleep, has time with her kids and, importantly, has time for herself. Here's how:

1. She says no.

A minimalist mom knows her limits, her interests and what the tipping point is for herself and her family. So, she limits volunteering to what interests her and what she can reasonably fit into her life. She guards her Wednesday nights—the night she always takes off from family duties to hit a yoga class or do something for herself—fiercely. She also says no to her kids: it's one out-of-school activity at a time and Sunday mornings are always for family. She's also mastered saying this at work: No, I can't take your work on. No, I won't be staying late to finish your last-minute request.

2. She knows where to spend her money for increased quality of life.

She would rather hire a bi-weekly cleaner than buy a pair of designer jeans. Weeknight meals are easy and from the slow cooker or just a simple spread of crackers, cheese and fruit. Fast food and takeout is expensive, and she'd rather spend that money on a babysitter and three courses at that new trattoria for date night. She is happy to buy the expensive snow boots for her oldest so they last through all three kids—saving not only money, but also time shopping. The kitchen renovation can wait until the youngest is out of daycare. Until then, she'd rather use fun money to buy an extra week of vacation and road trip as a family. Her spending aligns with one of her biggest values: having time for the things and people she loves.

3. She doesn't care what other people think.

Her workwear is five outfits for each season and no more. It's professional, flattering and easy. No one notices if you've worn the same outfit for seven Tuesdays in a row. She doesn't care what grandiose delicacies are brought for the school bake sale: She brings the same delicious butter cookies (the ones that they can freeze a quadruple batch of dough for) to every event requiring a cookie or baked good. Keeping up with the Joneses—who are stressed out and broke—isn't her thing.

4. Her kids do some things, not everything.

The family lives by a shared Google calendar and there are set rules around weekend playdates and kids' activities. Their kids have a healthy mix of structured activities and unstructured play time. She is a person first; chauffeur, playdate arranger and sideline soccer mom second.

5. She delegates like the boss that she is.

She hasn't done kid laundry since her oldest could reach the stacked washer dryer on his own. Her husband alternates meal planning and grocery shopping with her every week and makes all the kids' dentist appointments (she does the doctor appointments). She only takes the dog for a walk when she wants to; otherwise the kids do it. When an older kid forgets his or her lunch at home, they know that they have to figure it out for themselves: raiding their stash of granola bars in their locker or borrowing money from a friend for lunch. She understands she can't do it all, but rather, she and her family can do the basics together.

6. She knows what she and her family need (and want).

Her non-negotiables are her running group that has met every Saturday at 7 A.M. for a decade, a long weekend away with her spouse every fall and bedtime stories with the kids at least three nights a week. She knows what people and things fuel her—this makes it easy to say no to things that don't. She has a rule for friends that invite her to those kitchen gadget/jewelry/leggings parties: if she knows the salesperson well, she'll buy one item but won't attend the party. Every other invitation is a no.

7. She has hard and fast rules around taking work home with her.

Her team knows that if they have something urgent after 6 P.M. they better call her. She doesn't check email once she has left the office until 6 A.M. the next morning. When she gets home from a week of work travel, she takes a four-day weekend. Her schedule is blocked out from 4 P.M. onwards. so she isn't scheduled into end-of-day meetings that could run long. She meditates for 10 minutes at the end of her shift so she can leave the work stress at work. She guards her personal time and mental space fiercely.

8. She views work as a break from family time and family time as a break from work.

Being mentally present and engaged at work and at home means no guilt over enjoying her balance of work and family life. She cheerfully enjoys that there's no diapers to change for nine hours a day Monday to Friday, and when she's home she revels in being out of her office and untethered from her phone and laptop. Learning to quickly switch gears from work, family and personal time is a skill she has mastered to simplify her life.

The minimalist working mother doesn't do it all: she does the things that are important to her and to her family. Her list is unique to her and no one else. How she spends her time and her money directly aligns with what she values. This ethos of living her values makes it clear, fast and easy to make decisions. She knows that time is her most valuable resource and she spends it wisely at home and at work.

Originally posted on Working Mother.

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When I was pregnant I worried about what would happen if the baby cried for me while I was in a deep sleep. Like so many pregnancy worries, though, blocking out my baby's cries was something I didn't really need to be concerned about. An alarm clock can go off inches from my head and I'll sleep through it for hours, but if my baby cries at the other end of the house, I'm wide awake.

It turns out, the sound of my baby crying impacts my brain very differently than a beeping alarm.

I'm hardly the first parent to make this observation, and science is on to it, too. There's plenty of research about how a baby's cries impact its mother on a physical level. A study of mother mice published in Nature found that adding oxytocin (a hormone released in strong doses during labor and lactation) to the brains of the mamas changed the way they processed the sound of crying pups—and helped them learn how to recognize and respond to the sounds.

A dose of this “motherhood hormone," it seems, leads to increased sensitivity to the sound of your child in distress.

According to Robert Froemke, that study's senior investigator, this suggests oxytocin amplifies the way the auditory cortex processes incoming cries from our own babies. He says the same seems to be true for female mice as female humans: The sound of a crying baby stirs up a great sense of urgency.

This physiological reaction allow us to develop rapid, reliable behaviors to our babies' cries, says Froemke. In time, it also helps us learn what the cries mean—and how we can respond in a helpful way.

When our babies cry, “[as parents, we] don't know what's really going to work, we just try a bunch of stuff. Let's change a diaper, let's feed the baby, let's do a little dance," he says. “Eventually we learn this repertoire of parenting skills because we're all in, we're all invested and that baby depends on us absolutely to take care of it."

Researchers believe that it may be this hormonal shift in the brain that alerts a mother to the sound of her child's cry.

Mothers' brains have a different level of sensitivity to crying babies

In humans and in mice, dads often respond to a baby's cries, but the brain chemistry is a little different: According to Froemke, extra oxytocin doesn't speed up the reaction to crying pups in male mice the way it does for females.

"There is a difference in terms of [ a father's] sensitivity to oxytocin. We think that may be because the male oxytocin system is already maxed out," he explains, adding there is something about living with a female and child that contributes to a natural oxytocin increase in mouse dads. (Further proof moms aren't the only ones to deal with big hormone changes.)

But when it comes to the brains of human parents, there is more evidence that the brains of men and women respond to crying babies differently. A study published in NeuroReport looked at the brains of 18 men and women who heard a baby crying while inside a brain scanner. The women's brain activity suggested an immediate alertness, while the men's brain activity didn't change.

That study suggests there are gender differences in the way we process baby sounds, but a lot of dads will tell you they can't and don't sleep through a baby cries. And that's for good reason: According to Froemke, it's no biological accident that babies signal distress in a way that can pierce parents brains even when our eyes are closed.

"Parents have to sleep, too," he says, but, "Sounds penetrate our brains, they tap into something deep and we can quickly rouse from a deep slumber, jump out of bed and tend to infant needs."

Just as my son is biologically wired to be my personal alarm clock, I am biologically wired to hear him—even if I can still sleep through everything else.

[Originally published October 18. 2017]

[Editor's note: This story is a letter from a woman to her husband. While this is one example of one type of relationship, we understand, appreciate and celebrate that relationships come in all forms and configurations.]

To my husband,

We met when I was 22. We started building a life together. We became each other's best friend, cheerleader, guidance counselor, and shelter from the storm. We laughed together, cried together, and stood up in front of all the people who matter to us and vowed to stay together until one of us dies.

We said the words without irony or hesitation, knowing that while we weren't perfect, the problems we could face in life would never be enough to break us.

And babe, I had no clue what our future held. But I knew I wanted to experience it only with you.

Then we got pregnant! And when our son was born, I marveled at the fact that we made a person. You and me. It honestly still blows my mind even five years later.

I'd heard women say things like, I fell in love with my husband all over again once I saw him as a daddy. I love watching you be a daddy, too—but just like becoming a mother has been transformative for me, becoming a father has been transformative for you, too. And it has taken us some time to get to know the new versions of ourselves.

We worked together—mostly on the same team—and have shared so many beautiful lessons and experiences together. Everything is new when you're a first-time parent! And this new dynamic of three definitely threw us for a loop—I wasn't used to sharing your attention with someone else, and I wasn't used to sharing my attention with someone other than you.

It took a few years to hit our stride. I think maybe we never had big things to disagree on before we became parents. It threw me off to be anything but harmonious with you. But just like we said we would on that gorgeous September wedding day, we found our way back. We stayed on each other's team.

And then I got pregnant again.

We were planning a huge life change already— moving across the country to start anew, restart your business and make a new future. I didn't have an easy pregnancy this time. And generally, for many reasons, life seemed harder than ever.

Our daughter was born and it didn't take long for postpartum depression to steal me away, for far longer than I should have allowed it to. I was scared to get the help I needed and I let it get the best of me. I'm truly sorry for that. I'm mostly sorry that I sometimes let it get the best of us.

It's easy to love a partner when it's just the two of you. Our priorities were never tested then—you were at the top of my to-do list, and I was at the top of yours. But—funny thing—this whole parenting thing seemed to make life a little more complex. And when your kids are little, and completely dependent upon you, there are many days when there just isn't much left over for anything or anyone else.

Babe, we're in it right now. Really in it. These are the parenting trenches. The baby years. These years can make or break us. And can I be so bold as to say: I think they're making us.

They're making us learn how to communicate better. How to find common ground when we disagree about real stuff, like the ways we want to raise our children. We're invested in not only the outcome but the short term effect. We're a team.

They're making us think about the future. Not just the fun stuff, but the difficult stuff like estate planning, life insurance, and college funds for the kids. They're making us challenge ourselves to provide our children with comfort and opportunities. We've always worked hard but the stakes have never been this high.

You know I'm the optimist, the dreamer, while you consider yourself the realist—but I think we can agree on this: going through some of the tough stuff with you by my side has shown me that we are stronger than the tough stuff. We can get through it. We can get through anything. As long as we hold on to each other.

Motherhood transformed me. Fatherhood transformed you. And having kids completely transformed our marriage. We'll never be who we were on our wedding day again.

Time marches forward—only forward. I miss the carefree version of "us", but I love this version even more. Because we know what we're made of now, and in so many ways we didn't before.

I'm sure that in our lifetime, many more obstacles will arise that will transform our marriage. But I've never been more confident that whatever may be, we'll find a way through it—together.

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Baking Christmas cookies together is a family tradition for many, but the Centers for Disease Control is warning parents that if your recipe contains raw flour or raw eggs, you really shouldn't sneak a bite before it is cooked, and neither should your kids.

The CDC is warning people not to eat raw cookie dough, cake mix or bread as we head into prime baking season.

The agency acknowledges the appeal of a spoonful of chocolate chip goodness but asks that we "steer clear of this temptation—eating or tasting unbaked products that are intended to be cooked, such as dough or batter, can make you sick."

Salmonella from raw eggs is, of course, a concern, and so is the raw flour. According to the CDC, flour needs to be cooked in order to kill germs like E.Coli. That's why the CDC is asking parents to "say no to raw dough," not just for eating but even for playing with.

"Children can get sick from handling or eating raw dough used for crafts or play clay, too," the CDC posted on its website.

On the Food and Drug Administration's website, that agency advises that "even though there are websites devoted to 'flour crafts,' don't give your kids raw dough or baking mixes that contain flour to play with." Health Canada also states that raw flour should not be used in children's play-dough.

The warnings follow a 2016 E.coli outbreak linked to contaminated raw flour. Dozens of people got sick that year, and a post-outbreak report notes that "state investigators identified three ill children who had been exposed to raw flour at restaurants in Maryland, Virginia, and Texas. Restaurant staff had given them raw dough to play with while they waited for their food to be served."

The CDC worries that with flour's long shelf life, products recalled during the 2016 outbreak may still be in people's pantries (although the CDC notes that any raw flour—recalled or otherwise—should not be consumed).

If your kids do have flour-based play dough, don't worry.

Some parents are still choosing to use flour-based craft dough to make Christmas ornaments or other crafts this holiday season and are reducing the risks by A) making sure the kids aren't eating their art, and B) thoroughly washing little hands, work surfaces, and utensils when the dough play is over.

Other parents are choosing other types of craft clay over flour-based dough.


During the 2016 outbreak, the FDA called for Americans to abstain from raw cookie dough, an approach Slate called "unrealistic and alarmist," noting that "the vast, vast majority of people who consume or touch uncooked flour do not contract E. coli or any other infection."

Two years ago, 63 Americans were made sick by E. coli infections linked to raw flour, according to the CDC. We don't know exactly how many Americans ate a spoonful of cookie dough or played with homemade play dough that year, but we do know that more than 319 million Americans did not get sick because of raw flour.

Are there risks associated with handling and consuming raw flour? Yes, absolutely, but it's not something to panic over.

Bottom line: Don't let your kids eat raw dough when they're helping you bake cookies for Santa, and be mindful of raw flour when choosing crafts for kids.

(And if you have just got to get your raw cookie dough fix, the CDC notes that cookie dough flavored ice cream is totally safe as it "contains dough that has been treated to kill harmful bacteria." Sounds like mama's getting Ben & Jerry's tonight.)

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